The Intersection of Fear and Momentum
Photo by Tracy Graham, thankfully now from a later time where I can successfully ride out of a curb.
I have a love/hate relationship with speed.
Ever since the first time I talked myself onto the back of a motorcycle (sorry mom), I feel something inside of me click into place whenever I feel wind in my face.
But I hit my first hiccup when I tried skateboarding in middle school, since I loved the idea of cruising the streets and being a ‘skate rat’. There was always a threshold of speed where I’d choke and my fear of hurting myself and of losing control would get the better of me. So I decided, “not for me.”
Then in college, I attempted snowboarding and skiing. But the minute I’d reach any sort of cruise, I’d panic and force myself to fall. China Peak’s ski school once forced me into a free lesson just so they wouldn’t have to come up with a snowmobile to get me (again). So I decided, “not for me.”
Fast forward to me now trying to learn to ride motorized two-wheeled vehicles myself and not just riding on the back. My partner, Tracy, and I took his Genuine Stella manual scooter to a parking lot and I ended up popping a wheelie and laying the scooter (and both of us) down. So I think, “scratch that, that was freaky. Scooters must not be for me.”
For the final frontier, I decided to hop on a motorcycle and give that a shot, and I bought a BMW Airhead R65 after completing my CHP motorcycle safety course. Sure enough, I killed that ‘83 motorcycle’s battery so many times, draining it by panic-stalling when I was trying to pull out of the curb outside the apartment. I spent days beating myself up inside, wondering why I was so afraid of this thing when I’d passed the class, and at my core, worrying that I was smart to be afraid of it. Was this my gut telling me not to ride? Was it actually more intelligent to follow this fear, like I’d done with skating, snowboarding, and skiing, and decide that piloting a motorcycle wasn’t for me?
Whenever I thought back to my riding course I took in March, I realized that in that classroom setting, I was confident. It was night and day when compared to trying to learn to ride the scooter or the bike on the normal street with Tracy, which just led to a lot of frustration on his end and tears on mine. With a teacher telling me the safe and intelligent way to do this, not expecting anything of me at all, I shone. Why couldn’t I manage to tap into this confidence on my own?
A few months ago, while sitting astride my bike, Tracy on the curb next to me exasperatingly wondering why I couldn’t just go when he’d seen me do this before in class and in parking lots, once again I found myself hiding tears under my helmet because I just couldn’t bring myself to start her without stalling. I heard a voice in my head, my real gut finally speaking to me.
“You don’t owe this to anyone.”
It was like a lightbulb went on in my brain. I immediately killed her engine and politely told Tracy I was done for the day and that I’d try again tomorrow. It was probably unwise to ride in such a feelings storm anyway. We hopped on his bike instead, heading in the direction of the ocean, and I was back in my happy place, feeling the wind whistle by.
I thought to myself, “Why do I want to ride, truly?” I’d never asked myself this question about any of the other speed-based hobbies I’d salivated over, but had quit after a scare. I realized that I wanted to ride because it felt good. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel alive. I loved the community of riders I’d found through this hobby. I loved how it formed a new method of connection with my dad, a fellow BMW rider. I loved the idea of the adventures that would be at my fingertips. All thanks to this motorcycle. I definitely wanted to ride and it was for myself, not for anyone else.
I discovered that day that at the intersection of fear and momentum lies my inherent need to please others. I am a social, partner-oriented creature. Put me one on one, where I feel like I’m disappointing Tracy by stalling my bike or my friends who’ve taken me skiing and are now watching me slide down on my butt, and I choke, terrified of letting them down. Put me in a class setting, where there is still guidance but a diffusion of the responsibility of excelling, and I shine. Because it’s not all about me (in my mind), it is suddenly ALL about me. I’m free to get to work, no pressure. In that sweet spot between healthily pushing my boundaries and being rightly afraid, I just need to remind myself why I’m doing the thing I’m doing, and shut out the noise. Which is exactly what my friend and moto guru, Sam, had told me; “Most people resist forward momentum. The key to riding is picking up your feet and letting it take you, trusting that you’ll know what to do when it does.”
The next day, I took five deep breaths before starting my bike. When I was still having trouble on the sloped curb, I had Tracy wheel her somewhere flat, knowing I’d get to that skill someday, but for today, that it was OK to make myself comfortable. Then, taking a page from my Dad’s book, Tracy told me, “Don’t drop it”, and walked away, letting me handle this on my own.
After some shaky moments, I throttled out of the slope and circled the block a few times before Tracy joined me on his own bike. We went on a rockin' 2-hour ride around the City. I tackled hills and SF’s obstacles and only stalled a few times. That day, I was clear on why I wanted to ride. It was beautiful out and I just felt like it. No pressure to be riding well by a certain date and no pressure to reach a certain threshold of success for Tracy or anyone else. My fear melted away into excitement and I was able to ride well with a clear head.
Motorcycling has been an incredible exercise in finding my confidence, as well as learning how I learn best. It’s taught me to have empathy for my little self; I am learning to ride on an old 400+ pound bike, in one of the least hospitable, hilly, chaotic cities to learn to ride a motorcycle. It’s taught me to ask for what I need from my partner and in my learning environments. It’s taught me that I have a quiet determination and that I can tap into it if I just take a moment to pause and find it through the clutter of my mind. It has been one of the most formative things I’ve taken upon myself in this life thus far and I’m not even a year in.
In early November, I finally experienced the feeling of cruising on my own bike through Golden Gate Park. Let me tell you, being on the back of a bike is nothing compared to being immersed in the whole world in front and around you at the driver’s position. I do a lot of crowing with excitement these days under my helmet. No more tears.
Since all of life seems to happen somewhere in that intersection between fear and momentum, motorcycling may just be the ticket to learning to embrace the universal flow of life.
